No Evil
by Samsquatch67
Summary: "See no evil, hear no evil... Speak, no evil." Sam and Dean are on another case, and for once, it isn't the 'strangest' case they've ever been on, but it's also not the easiest case they've ever been on. When something happens, Sam is left relying completely on Dean. (NOT slash)
1. Chapter 1

**Here's a prologue to a new story, amigo's! :)**

"See no evil," whispered the voice. A beautiful voice. Eerie greenish white eyes stared into his own, and black lips were pulled back in a smile. Sam swallowed instinctively, still meeting her gaze unflinchingly. Seconds droned on after her words before the world dropped into darkness. He was terrified, but he wouldn't show it. He was a Winchester, after all. "Hear," she paused, probably for effect as a black nail ran down the side of his face, "no evil." There was a whistling in his ears, like a high pitched whining, and pressure in his head like there was something within it, pushing, angrily, rage filled, trying to get out of his head. "Wait," he whispered, and to his horror but not surprise, he couldn't hear himself speak. He could feel the vibrations in his throat as he murmured the word. Then after long seconds, he opened his mouth to say something, to speak, but not only did he not hear it, he didn't feel it.

A hand ran through his hair and then, only then, did he allow himself to cringe, fighting the chains that bound him. He felt so helpless. Violated. Scared and angry.

His world had never been so dark.

**Tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**ALRIGHT, so, VanillaJ1969 and I RPEd this out, she was Dean, and I was Sam. (She's good. Just admit it.) ANyways, moving on, enjoy!:D**

_48 HOURS EARLIER..._

Sam sighed and re-positioned his cast-covered wrist where it rested on the laptop. The young man had a beer in his free hand, and looked intently at the laptop screen. "Shinto shrine…" he whispered to himself at he looked at the open Wikipedia tab. Without looking he put the bottle to his lips, swallowing a sip of the bitter liquid, all the while his hazel eyes still staring at the page.

Dean entered the motel room, and glanced around at the beige colored wallpaper; ugly wallpaper, but it was home, for however long it had to be. He tossed a bag of what he called food onto the table, knowing that Sam would probably disagree with his assesment of said meal.

"Got food," Dean stated, coming up behind his brother and looking over his shoulder at the laptop.

Sam let go of the beer to use his hand to further insinuate what he would say with habitual hand motions, "The police officially released to the public what they think is a serial killer case, get this: Not all the victims died. One guy, um, Hoylden Holderman, is at the hospital right now. The cops are keeping all the media out of the hospital, trying to keep the situation as contained as possible. BUT, i found leaked information thanks to a reportor..." he clicked to another tab. "They got one of the M.E's on the case to talk, and all of the bodies lead to signs of 'unnatural' damage to vocal cords, larynx, retinas, corneas, and ear drums. So, on a hunch, I started looking up lore on The Three Wise Monkeys," he paused, splaying his hand out to his side and momentarily bobbing his head, eyes growing wide,"Other wise known as the see no evil, speak no evil, and hear no evil monkeys," he said the last bit in a rush before taking a small breath of air to refill his lungs.

Dean listened to Sam wondering how the kid could talk so much without taking a single breath. He'd always been pretty good at that. Dean figured it was probably because he'd gotten a lot of practice talking to their father; Sam talked fast, John couldn't interrupt him. Dean shook his head slightly at the thought.

"Okay, then you're telling me MONKEYS are responsible for the deaths? Dude, so... like that one time we snuck into that theater... the horror movie with the sewing monkeys? Tell me it's killer monkeys Sam." Dean stated, looking 'hopeful'. He leaned against the table, next to Sam, both palms down on the table, his eyes staring into Sam's. He honestly wans't sure what to think of the whole, 'monkeys are killing people' thing.

At first Sam looked with wide open eyes at Dean and shrugged, then at his brother's reaction his expression morphed. He pursed his lips, he spoke in exasperation, "It's..." He shifted again in his chair, before continuing, "the... murdering, Cercopithecoidea's." he looked somewhat happy with himself then for avoiding his brother's crude 'killer monkeys' example.

SerkopathikoIdeas?" Dean asked, teasing Sam by saying the name completely incorrectly. He knew that wasn't correct at all, but he couldn't help it. What was an older brother for, if not to tease their younger sibling sometimes?

"Okay, okay, lets say it is your...Cercopithecoidea' s." Dean stated after a short silence. "How do we deal with them? Put 'em in a zoo?" he asked. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and set it over the edge of the table, waiting for Sam's response to this.

Sam rolled his eyes, but if he were being honest with himself, he had to force his look of annoyance. (Though it wasn't hard, that facial expression was often on his face.) He rather thought Dean's constant joking-mood could at times deter certain awkward situations, lighten the mood and frankly had been the reason John and Sam had never gone completely over board with their arguments. Dean would never know it, (Was it Sam's pride keeping him from telling him, or something else entirely?) but Sam appreciated it. Quite a bit. Who knows what their arguments could have grown into if the eldest son hadn't been there?

Dean just grinned at Sam, who was giving him the 'b!tch face' as Dean called it. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from Sam, and asked, "Okay, so how do we deal with the 'Wise-a$$ monkeys?" Dean smiled slightly at his own joke; he couldn't help it if he was funny.

MEMORY~ _The youngest brother, age of six, moved quietly behind Dean, and for him, recently, quiet was a rare thing indeed. He grinned, his (at the time) lighter hair wet from the rain they had come through to get inside. He didn't know what movie they were going to exactly, just that it was about monkeys, or apes, or something like that. They were nearing the entrance to the movie, and he could already hear sound from inside._

_Dean led Sam forward, knowing that if they were caught, they would be kicked out. Their entrance hadn't exactly been... legal, per se. He walked forward, innocently following a woman and her three kids in, so as to appear to be with her group. As soon as they entered the dark room, they could see that they were just in time, and the last of the commercials was playing out._

_"C'mon Sammy," Dean whispered, pulling Sam to a seat near the exit, just in case they needed to leave quickly. He knew how much time they had before their dad would get back from the crime scene and morgue... they had plenty of time here._

_Sam beamed brighter than the sun. He took a seat next to Dean, pretending not to notice how close they were to the exit. He always noticed. He noticed John and Dean's paranoia, case files and weird tabs pulled up on the laptop, odd library runs, moving all over the country. What he didn't know was why._

_"Thanks, Dean," Sam whispered, so close to silent it sounded like air forming syllables. Ten-year-old Dean grinned at Sam, replying, "Sure, Sammy," then pointed at the screen as the movie finally started. The people went silent and the lights darkened completely, the doors were closed and everything started._

Sam, brought out of his own memory, dropped instantly back into their conversation on hunting. "I'll do more research on the 'Wise- $$-monkeys', but I figured we could head down to talk with the living victim first? That is, if he can even hear. After all, the other victim's all had damage to their ears." he half said, half suggested. He swiped his beer swiftly off the table and finished it in a few large gulps before setting it back down and softly closing the laptop.

Dean raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Yep, if his mouth isn't sewn shut, we can ask him what the monkeys looked like... were they brown, black, or albino?"Dean asked, standing up and pulling on his jacket again.

Sam snorted dryly, standing and sifting through his duffel, which was on the farthest bed from the door. Pulling out a fake FBI badge and suit he left for the bathroom, changing clothes in record time, really, he should have gotten in the Guinness Book of World Records. He fiddled with the pitch black tie as he walked towards the door, "Keys," the younger brother said as he stopped in front of the door, holding a hand up ready to catch them as an automatic I'll-wait-while-you-get- ready-see-you-out-at-the -Impala motion.

Dean tossed Sam the keys without a second thought, then headed toward his duffel bag, not looking back as he heard Sam catch the keys. Within a short time, he too was ready. He glanced at himself in the mirror, and remembered the time Sam had told him he looked like a sixth grader at a prom... or something like that. He rolled his eyes and left, heading out the door.

The twenty-twenty-two-year-o ld opened the passenger door, the loud groaning creak sound it made didn't reach his ears. It was like getting used to a certain alarm sound or song and no longer waking up when it went off. He looked up in time to see Dean crossing over towards the Impala and put the keys into ignition before leaning back into his own side of the bench seat.

Dean walked around his beloved car, and got into the driver's side, nodding once to Sam, who'd already started it. "So, hospital it is to talk to our freak-zoo-accident survivor." Dean stated, shaking his head, "Sounds crazier every time I hear it."

"You're tellin' me," Sam puffed out a sigh. "Our lives are weird, man." he said, looking down at his hands that rested on his lap, a lock of hair falling in his face as a small smile grew on his face along with some unidentifiable emotion. He looked at the black cast on his wrist for several seconds as the smile fell off, a subtle frown replacing it as he started playing with a loose string that hung from the cast, rolling it between his fingers.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot, nodding at Sam's words, "Who wants an apple pie life though, really? Apple pie, sure, I'd go for it... but apple pie life... not for me." Dean stated. The drive to the hospital would be a short one, as it was only a few blocks away from where they were at this very moment.

"Yeah... I guess you're right," Sam said sincerely. Jess' death had changed everything. His jaw muscles were twitching as he stared absently at his hands, but he finally shook himself out of the daze. He looked up and out the window then back at Dean. "The hospital is just past that intersection."

Dean nodded, already aware of this. He glanced sideways at Sam, who was clearly thinking about something that bothered him; Sam hid his emotions very poorly sometimes. "You okay?" Dean asked. 'No chick flick moments,' didn't mean that he couldn't ask his little brother if he was okay.

"I just want Dad to call us again and stop trying to have some mocho showdown, alone, with the demon." "You know, something about this case is bothering me," Sam said, jumping so fast from one subject to another that one might have thought he didn't even say the first sentence. A frown was still plastered on his face as he vaguely shook his head and looked out the window.

"Sam, something's always bothering you," Dean stated, leaving the Impala in silence for several seconds before he spoke again. "Okay, what is it?" Dean asked, glancing momentarily at Sam when they stopped at a red light.

Blowing past his older brother's first statement he elaborated, "This whole thing... the monkeys, it doesn't explain how they move around even if it did have anything to do with those legends. Is it a poltergeist attached to some object and somehow he can blind people? If the monkeys are real, why haven't we heard of it in Dad's journal? He knows about almost every supernatural creature out there, right? I dunno, it's just bugging me.""Besides. The Three Monkeys was just an idea that wouldn't leave me alone. But it just doesn't make sense." he rubbed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, I know. Poltergiest, or maybe like the ninja turtles ya know? Maybe REAL monkeys were nuked, or something... and they just sorta turned evil for revenge," Dean kidded, knowing that wasn't it at all. Sam was probably right though, because 'hunter instincts' were rarely wrong, and to be honest, the whole monkey thing wasn't working for Dean either.

"You know, Dean? That makes no sense whatsoever." Sam said in return to Dean's 'idea'. "Hey, maybe after we talk to Holdon, if the ear damage does happen after they die and he can actually _hear_ us, we can check out the crime scenes. Maybe there's something there that the cops didn't find. I mean, they don't exactly know what to look for on the supernatural level."

Dean nodded, it was a thought, and honestly better than his ninja turtle idea, although he was gonna stick with that one. "Yeah, okay, crime scene, right," Dean agreed.

Sam honestly didn't know why he was so tense. Well, until they got to the hospital, at least. Media was everywhere, and swarming around a coroner's van. Swarming. Commotion. He didn't need to really see what was going on, because he knew. Their probably-deaf witness and victim had died.

**I didn't get a chance to edit as much as i would have liked, so, excuse all the errors please!:) And if there were innacuracies (Wow I really spelled that wrong. It's to late, or is it too early? 3:) just please forgive and ignore them! And the whole ear thing, I forgot about it when I was writing about going to talk to Holdon, so, I had to go back and add some stuff in there. Also excuse this, it was not Sam being the dumbo, but I, Samsquatch67, hahaXD Forgetfulness is bad!**


	3. Chapter 3

44 HOURS…

"He died from shock?" Dean repeated, and when the officer nodded, he glanced at his brother with a knowing look. "Thanks again, Officer Riley," said Sam, and with a curt nod they were going back to the Impala.

Sam held up his hands and turned his upper body slightly to face Dean as he started speaking, "The victims never knew each other, didn't have any similarities, they didn't even go to the same BAR! So what if- what if," Sam spoke, looking almost deranged, "What if it's something else? What if it's not random after all?"

"Ah, you mean, like a Woman in White? They kill unfaifthful men." Dean opened the drivers side and got in, and the minute Sam got into the car also he commented on what Dean had said, "Yeah, it's their M.O." "So, you're saying, whatever's doing this, it's because of something the people did?"

"Yeah, that's the theory," Sam confirmed. Dean proceeded to ask for the directions to the crime scene and Sam distantly complied by reciting the directions he'd gotten earlier that morning.

About twenty minutes later, they arrived.

The house was small, blue and white, with a freshly cut lawn and flowerpots decorating the front porch.

"So who was it?" Dean asked when he parked. "What? Oh. MaryAnn Collier. She lived alone, and died two weeks ago, from shock, before the medics got there. No witnesses, and none of the neighbors heard anything." Sam reported. Dean sat staring at the house for a moment before, almost silently, he asked, "How old was she?"

Sam cringed at the quiet question. He swallowed harshly, adam's apple bobbing and his head briefly tilting down before his eyes going back to Dean's face. "To young."

Dean let the Impala fall into silence, and Sam didn't break it, not until his brother did. "We're gonna kill this son of a b!tch," he said, then got out of the car, grabbing his EMF on the way out.

Sam picked the lock easily enough, and both brothers moved inside of the house. Instantly off the the right was a stair case, and in front of them a hallway. "They found her in the living room," Sam said, and motioned forward. "I'll check upstairs." Dean nodded briskly, holding the EMF in front of himself as he walked. The wooden floor creaked underneath his boots and somewhere in front of him on the hallways wall, a clock droned on and on.

Once in the living room, he moved into the center of it. There was a sliding glass door to the left side, a love seat on the right, and a rocking chair near the corner of the room where it broke off into a small kitchen.

There was a TV on the wall, and a coffee table just in front of his shins. A chime sang on the back porch. He watched the small silver poles clink together, as if hypnotized…

"Right before the monster comes out and eats the protagonist," Dean grumbled and shook his head.

The EMF detector went off when he moved forward, buzzing, with the red lights flaring. Frowning, he stalked towards the blue couch. (Because literally everything in this house was blue or white or glass.) It went off again. He moved it away, waving it to the right, and it stopped. Then he moved it back over the middle pillow cushion.

He set it down on the floor and cautiously pulled off the cushion.

"D mnit!" he cursed, rocking backwards onto his heels and glaring at what had been underneath it. "What? What is it?" Sam asked, tromping into the room. "Hex bag," Dean stated grimly, grabbing it and standing up to show it to the youngest Winchester.

Sam made a face, catching it when Dean tossed it to him. "Alright, a serial killing witch." "No, a sociopathic, serial killing witch with an M.O." Dean corrected and wagged a finger before dropping his hand again. "I hate witches."

34 HOURS…

Sam didn't know what time it was now. Rubbing his eyes when several fingers of the same hand, he took in a deep breath and grimaced, looking from the laptop screen to the microwave. 7:30 PM.

He fumbled for his burner phone in his pocket then flipped it open, hitting speed dial. "You find anything?" Dean instantly asked as he answered, wariness edging around his voice. "Yeah, I'll tell you when you get here. You get them all?" Sam returned. Dean had left several hours before to find and burn all of the hex bags that were left at the scenes. Just to be on the safe side.

"Yep."  
>"Can't wait to gank this ba$tard," Sam said in a tone that sounded like a sigh. He could hear his brother scrub a hand over his face then mimic his sigh with one of his own. "D*mn straight," Dean concurred.<p>

"How close are you?" Sam asked after a moment. "Eh, few minutes. Remember that Bug Juice drink Dad used to get us whenever he saw it in a gas station when we were kids?"

Sam smiled and let out a sound like an almost laugh, "Yeah, I remember. You always picked the blue ones. What brought that up, anyway?"

"I don't know, it just came to me. The blue ones were the best! Which one did you get? What was it called, again? Whistl'N Watermelon Bug Juice flavor?" Dean said, fondness creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, yeah that was it." Sam said and chuckled softly. "And remember when we begged Dad to get one with the child's cap on it?" he added as an afterthought. At that Dean guffawed, "I still can't believe he did it! Bad $$ hunter and marine drinking out of the- Hah!" Dean laughed again even as he spoke.

"The guy behind the register, remember his expression?"

"Of course I do," Sam heard double as Dean said it that time, his voice through the phone and just outside the door. Flipping the phone shut he set it back down on the table and waited as his brother entered the room, still laughing.

"Hey, okay, I think I found the M.O." Sam informed him. "Aww, come on Sammy, all work and no play? Fine, tell me what you've got." The elder brother said and dropped onto the bed.

"MaryAnn, the first victim, she cheated on her boyfriend. The second almost went to jail for man slaughter, his brother-in-law, but somehow he got off the hook, and when they got the evidence they needed to put him away, they couldn't try him for the same crime twice. James, the third one, he got in an accident and put his mother in a coma. Holdon had several domestic charges. They all hurt someone close to them."

**Author's note: ** Don't remember if EMF works for Witches, so, I'm just saying it does on the hex bag, sorry if I'm wrong!


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 3: Hey y'all, :D I have no feedback and not a lot of followers, reviews and/or favorites and I think it's because my summary was crap! So I changed it! See how THIS one works out, haha ;) Thank you all who ARE reading it, RIGHT now, and if you do get the chance, reviews aren't love, but it makes the author feel loved!**

22 HOURS…

9:30 AM.

Arby's drive through, Dean halfway out the window practically shouting his order(s?) at the machine, and Sam in the passenger seat on the laptop researching. Story of their lives, Dean thought half sourly, half sarcastically.

"SO? You figured out who the psycho witch is yet?" he asked as he leaned back in, scooting forward at a snails pace before halting as the black truck in front of them did. "No, your guess is as good as mine."

"My guess is BETTER than yours. MY guess, is that waitress at that local café smack dab in the middle of the town… Think about it. She would know practically everyone, they'd pass through at least once, so she'd know… she's just know. She'd be right in the middle of all the gossip. And, she's creepy as h#ll."

"Yeah, maybe, it makes sense, I guess."

Dean snagged the bagged food after getting 'his' credit card back. "Good a place as any to start,"

20 HOURS…

"Looks like she does have a weird past," Dean commented as he stared at the laptop, having swapped places with his little gigantic brother an hour earlier. "Yeah, and guess what, one of her boyfriends tried to kill her. Explains the M.O." Sam replied instantly, Starbucks coffees in hand.

He set one down next to Dean. "What did you get?"

"After that happened, neighbors of hers started complaining to the local police about hearing things, one even came to her house and convinced her to go to the ER, she'd been slicing up her arms. They thought it was a suicide attempt, when they went to her house they found a bowl filled with her blood and a bunch of other 'Satanic mumbo jumbo crap', the neighbors who found hers husband said." Dean informed.

"So, your hunch was right," Sam said.

18 HOURS…

2:30 PM.

"She's not here. She's not here. Dean!"

"What?"

"She's not here!"

"Yeah, I can see that, Captain Obvious! I thought she was just in the bathroom, putting on her makeup before letting us kill her!"

"What's your problem?!" Sam finally yelled. He'd never had the most patience.

"What's my problem? My… my _problem,_ is that, have you ever stopped to think, that she's some freaky homicidal b!tch, whoops, I mean, witch, excuse me," he said venomously, "That kills people who have 'hurt' people they 'love'. That-that she doesn't care who they are now, just what they've done in the past? Doesn't care if they've ever really, truly done anything out of malice, or if they just had a d mn bad run? If they made a mistake and ran a red light? If they…"

"What are you trying to say?" Sam said, forcing his voice to come out calmly again.

"What I'm trying to say, _Sam, _is that, you 'walked out' on us. And then there's the whole thing with Jess…"

Sam's jaw muscle twitched, more than a little… annoyance… lighting his eyes. "That wasn't my fault,"

"Bloody Mary didn't seem to care," said the elder brother flatly.

Sam threw up his arms uselessly before they dropped limply back to his sides, "Dean," he croaked out, his tone softening, and he shook his head. "What are we supposed to do? We've got to finish this hunt."

"Yeah. Yeah, because you're _always_ right," Dean spat angrily and stormed towards the door. But underneath of it all was concern. Fear.

15 HOURS…

4:59 PM.

Dean needed a drink. No, he needed a lot more than one drink. He hadn't meant to blow up like that. But after everything, after he dragged Sam back into hunting and really, he felt both at fault and not. Because, if he hadn't brought Sam on the Constance hunt, would he have burned on that ceiling, too? If so, than maybe Dean should have felt guilty for it, but he was glad he had asked him to go, if that was the case.

Sam was his little brother. Practically his kid, for Pete's sake.

Sitting down he ordered the strongest they had on the rocks. After several drinks a red head he wouldn't remember in a week sat next to him, laughing drunkenly, but frankly to his state of drunken-mind it sounded like music.

2 HOURS…

6:58 AM.

'Dean, call me, we need to talk.'

'I know you probably found some chick to hook up with, but you really need to call me back.'

'Call me back.'

'D mnit Dean,' the last voicemail was more of a whisper.

Dean groaned groggily, rubbing a hand over his face. He'd left the room half an hour before, not waking the red haired chick on his way out, found the bar, found the Impala, found his phone, listened to voicemails, all with a robotic essence about him. His head pounded, the headache sending rippling volts of pain through his brain, bouncing around in his skull with the nausea. He dialed his brother's phone, grimacing as he did so. He wasn't going to like this conversation. The phone picked up and he jumped into it, "Heya Sammy, I'm just gonna say this now—"

"Dean, she's outside the motel room," Sam cut him off. Dean instantly jumped into his car, and fly out of the parking lot. "You've got a Taurus, right?" "Yeah, but I don't think it's gonna matter much," Sam replied, and already he sounded somewhat foggy. "D mnit, Sammy! That b!tch!" Dean's brother 'hmm'ed over the phone. She'd put some freaking curse or spell or hex or… Taking a shaking breath Dean cleared his thoughts. "I'm less than two minutes away," "Yeah…" Sam sounded like a sleepy five-year-old all over again, and it made Dean's heart pounded even harder and more painfully in his chest.

**Soo, I'm just trying to map out what's happened. the next chapter I'm probably going to fit the prologue into!**


	5. Chapter 5

**If everyone could give this chapter a review, anonomously, or not, small or big I would Really REALLY appreciate it! :D I want to know out of the views how many people are actually reading this.**

When Sam woke, there was a light shinning directly on his face. Artificial light. He felt stiff, his knees barely bending when he tried to move. When he pulled his eyes open everything was blurry, but after a moment he could see clearly. The house was huge, frankly it reminded him of the house in Beauty and the Beast. The carpet underneath him was red and gold. There was a chandelier above his head, and a staircase off to the right. Unfortunately his hands were bound behind his back, and as he tried to move them, he heard a clanking, like metal against metal. A metal loop came from the wooden floor just beneath the carpet, said metal loop looked like it was built into the floor. Honestly, Sam didn't want to think about that. The handcuffs were cuffed to it. And they too, looked like they were built in, just to the metal loop.

Classical music played from some sound system, violins, pianos and a woman humming. It didn't take him long to realize that the woman humming was coming closer from behind him. Suddenly someone was bent beside him, apple in hand along with a knife. He looked between the blade and the woman's face, flinching slightly when she jabbed it down into the apple and carved out a slice. She was still humming. Her lips were black with lipstick and her eyes were a pretty shade of blue, long black hair fell over her shoulders and contrasted with her pale face. She fingered the green apple slice, then gracefully set down the knife, grabbing a handful of the young man's hair and pulled his head back. He tugged his head away, wincing as she gripped his hair harder. She was whispering something, a spell perhaps, no, not perhaps. He recognized the Latin, the perfect pronunciations. She stopped and at the same time so did his struggling.

His body felt heavy and his bones felt like they had been deposited in liquid nitrogen. He swallowed harshly, closing his eyes tightly. "Wh—" he started to say, but instead it turned into harsh gagging as she put the apple slice in his mouth then clamped a hand over. It tasted like ash, bitter ash. He choked as his throat instinctively swallowed it, and the sound of his breathing was loud and labored against her hand. "Don't worry, it's just a bit of an… hallucinogen." She said and laughed.

She pushed him back against the floor, and his wrists screamed in protest, frankly so did his mind, but he couldn't move. She settled down next to him and stayed silent. It was disconcerting. He opened his eyes again, and grimaced at the sight that met him.

"See no evil," whispered the voice. A beautiful voice. Eerie greenish white eyes stared into his own, and black lips were pulled back in a smile. Sam swallowed instinctively, still meeting her gaze unflinchingly. Seconds droned on after her words before the world dropped into darkness. He was terrified, but he wouldn't show it. He was a Winchester, after all. "Hear," she paused, probably for effect as a black nail ran down the side of his face, "no evil." There was a whistling in his ears, like a high pitched whining, and pressure in his head like there was something within it, pushing, angrily, rage filled, trying to get out of his head. "Wait," he whispered, and to his horror but not surprise, he couldn't hear himself speak. He could feel the vibrations in his throat as he murmured the word. Then after long seconds, he opened his mouth to say something, to speak, but not only did he not hear it, he didn't feel it.

He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't speak: Was he even real? Had he ever been real, had anything been real, or was this the real world? Dark and lonely. Something cold and hard lightly brushed against his exposed throat, then dug into the flesh almost softly. And it hurt, and something wet oozed from the cut and made him shudder.

In the logical side of his mind he knew what was going on. The witch, the hunt. But he didn't know if he could believe it. He didn't think anyone would have believed it, either. If they had been there instead. Because you see things, hear things to be able to know something was about to happen, someone was near, to expect pain, to protect yourself. You spoke to cry for help, or to scream in pain, or to beg them to stop. You move to fight, to show free will, to show your own person, to survive.

You need senses to survive. Not one, then another.

And now all he had left was feelings. And he could feel the pain, feel the floor beneath him, feel the blood running from cuts the witch made.

A hand ran through his hair and then, only then, did he allow himself to feel so helpless. Violated. Scared, angry.

His world had never been so dark.

****** DEAN*******

It had been two hours. He'd called Bobby, the old family friend he hadn't spoken with in well over, well, quite a while. He'd even gone so far as to give the cops an anonymous tip so they would help him in the search. But it wasn't… he sighed, running a hand over the full length of his face before returning it to the steering wheel. He'd checked her house, which was empty, checked local warehouses, checked everywhere. He had no idea how she had just seemingly vanished, but she had, and so had Sam, and that meant that there was no way he wasn't going to find her.

When his phone rang again, he picked it up without a second pause, "Bobby, tell me you've got something, because I'm—" he was stopped by a voice that made his blood both freeze and boil.

"I'm texting you an address. Of course I can't promise anything, I don't know what state _Sam _will be in when you get there."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 5: IMPORTANT: The last chapter I made a mistake! I meant to make the phone call seem like the witch, but I didn't, not enough! So clarifying because I was stupid and confusing, it was the witch, not Bobby! And anyways, Thank you all for the reviews!:DD YAY Thank you, thank you, thank you. **

**I'm not exactly HAPPY with this chapter, but, I don't know, maybe y'all will be.**

The house was a two story, the large black gate entrance was behind him now. It looked like a castle, the Oklahoma house before him. Balcony on the second level, large door entrance, the lights all turned on. Dean cocked his 45, stalking forward towards the huge door. He didn't flinch when it creaked open on its own, no doubt had been left open intentionally. As it did, classical music flooded out along with artificial light.

The Winchester cautiously moved through the door, like a provoked wolf, stalking what once hunted it. He walked through another door, only to be met by an even brighter room. Squinting against he light he didn't flinch, only waited for his eyes to adjust again, his grip on the handgun unwavering.

When his vision cleared, he moved to the middle of the room, heart trying to break out of his chest. His brother was lying on the floor, hands somehow cuffed to a metal loop on the floor, blood from several lacerations was the only sign of him being injured.

He crouched next to him, and put the gun in his waistband, putting two fingers against Sam's neck. Sam let out a frustrated, feral growl, and frankly, Dean didn't even see the fist coming. Pursing his lips he shook his head, his jaw now throbbing, and looked back at Sam. Sam who had scrambled as far away from as he could, an animalistic expression on his face.

And his eyes. His _eyes, _Dean thought in distress. They were cloudy and milky and once hazels were now sickly blue-ish white. "Sammy, Sammy!" he tried, desperation setting in. His brother couldn't see him, couldn't hear him… Struggling to pull the amulet over his head, he pushed it into Sam's bound hands, his bright green eyes looking into sightless ones hopefully.

A million emotions crossed the youngest Winchester's face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but instead an odd pain filled gagging came out, and he tried to pull his hands up to his throat, instead only hitting the cuffs. He was gripping the amulet with pale, clammy hands. Dean put a hand on either side of his brother's face, cringing to himself. He had to calm down, he told himself. His little brother was shaking so badly, and his breathing was shallow. "D mnit," Dean whispered as realization fully dawned on him.

He pulled out a paperclip from his back pocket, messing with the handcuffs for several long seconds before they opened and released Sam's wrists. "Okay, you're gonna be okay," he mumbled, his voice cracking. He pulled his shock-y sibling towards himself, putting one hand on the back of his head and resting their foreheads together for a moment.

Pulling Sam off the ground gently, he tried to guide him out of the house, and to his displeasure and honestly, anger, Sam flinched every two seconds. He was going to kill the witch. He'd find her, and he'd kill her, and it would be slow, and painful.

After awkwardly getting Sam into the Impala with a shock blanket, he slid into the drivers seat, peeling out of the driveway and onto the road. He'd find a way to fix this, and he'd kill the witch, and all would be well with the world.

All would be well with the world.

Everything would be fine, like it always was.

He glanced sideways and swallowed down the lump growing in his throat. Sam's face had streaks of tears from closed eyes, he was swallowing rapidly and was completely silent. It was unnerving, it was heart breaking.

"We'll…" Dean started to say, but trailed off. It was like after someone close to you died and you mentioned them as though they were still alive. Just with Sam's hearing. He nearly missed the turn off for the motel while deep in his thoughts. Parking in the lot, he hopped out of the Impala, looking back into the window at his brother for several agonizingly long seconds. He shook his head briskly, paid for a room, than proceeded to cross back over to his car to pull Sam out and towards the room. The key card didn't work the first two tries, but eventually it turned green and the door opened.

He managed to get Sam to lie down and have his feet elevated, treating him for shock, (Because it wasn't like he'd never done _that _before) then jumped into research.

He told himself he'd call Bobby the next day. And leave their father a message tomorrow, also. Running a hand down his face, he sighed deeply and looked back at his younger brother, who was vacantly staring at the ugly roof.

He still tightly gripped the amulet in one hand.

Dean scrubbed at his face with his hand again, this time for the tear that escaped his eye. He turned back to the laptop. Back to researching.

P.S: Sorry it was a bit fast, wanted them at least back at the motel by the time the chapter ended.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 6 OR WHATEVER IT IS NOW:**

**reannablue: Haha, if I find a way to add another hunter into the hunt when Dean kills the witch, then you can just imagine yourself as said hunter... ;) **

**elliereynolds777: :D Glad you liked it, and I was wondering the same thing, then I thought, "Oh, the amulet, genuis!" ;) :D And thank you, I try my best.**

There was a low humming. A buzzing. And maybe he was trying to convince himself it was a motel refrigerator, but the sound droned on and on within his head, like a bee inside of his ears. He knew he was staring up at what should have been a roof, but it was like someone had turned off all the lights and left him in the dark.

He tried to stand, trembling as he wobbled dangerously. His whole world felt so much bigger now. Unpredictable. He was just trying to remember it was temporary. No, trying to convince himself that it was. He ground his teeth in frustration as he took a timid step, ignoring the hot tear that fell down his face.

The next thing he knew was he was falling, his head smacking against something hard, _desk,_ his brain offered. Half from embarrassment half from his growing frustration he growled, brushing off the slight tingling in his throat when he made the sound. He rubbed a hand on his head then started patting the desk with his other hand. Putting his hand down that held the amulet on the ground he was about to push himself up when something scurried over his hand. He gasped, vocal cords screaming at him when he did, and flung his hand, scrambling backwards in surprise. His back connected with a wall and he startled again, half crawling half crouch walking until he rammed into a rolling chair, his upper body lunging forward, arms awkwardly hugging the seat.

He was panting, (if only he could hear that) and angry tears had started to flow freely. With an odd cry that was replied but agony in his throat, he shoved the chair, trying to stand again, his dark world spinning wildly. Close to retching, he started to fall, a miserable sob escaping his lips.

That was when a door flung open and slammed against his shoulder, he figured it was probably the bathroom. Before he could hit the floor arms wrapped around his back, another chest rising and falling against his own. He could feel a rabbit paced heartbeat and distantly thought, a heart shouldn't be beating that fast. He wanted to fight, but instead he just ended slumping over as he was lowered to the floor, his head hitting a shoulder.

There was a hand feeling his now sore shoulder, and he tried to shrug it off. A hand wrapped over his own, the one holding the amulet. A callused hand: a vaguely shaking hand.

Sam mouthed his brother's name, and with the hand holding the charm he patted, accidently smacking Dean's face, the hard necklace digging into Dean's forehead. The face under his hand cringed in pain but didn't move away. The younger brother grimaced, moving his hand and trying to apologize, which sounded more like a whispering squawk.

Awkwardly he struggled out of the arms, widening the necklace string and pulling it down over Dean's head. He fought the resistance, which he soon realized to be an ear, and more moodily than not yanked it down, around his neck. He couldn't hear and he couldn't see and he couldn't speak and d mnit he _hated _this because what if it didn't just, 'go back to normal'? What if, all the what ifs…

He leaned back, his arms wrapping around his knees as he pulled them closer to his chest. And somehow he knew Dean was rambling, the nervous, angst covering up rambling and bad jokes that no one laughed at but him. And Sam wished he could hear it, but all he could do was sit there in this black, darkness, this silent world of fear and pain and confusion.

**I wanted this to be a teeny tiny h/c chapter, :) hope you enjoyed, probably will get to hunting the witch next chapter. We'll see!**


	8. Chapter 8

**IMPORTANT: **

_Uuhh, I don't even know what to say. I can't get into this, I love the idea, but just nope. Real life demands more attention than FFN right now. So you can read all the stories on my page if you like, keep yourselves entertained with those whenever you wish, if you wish. And I'm sorry, even notice I lost a favorite on 'favorite author's list'... Sorry if I let someone down?_

_But yes. Real. Life. Punched. Me. In. The. Face._

_OOoh and while I say this, check out Carolinagirl117. She's a friend, she's cool, and she's got some interesting stories. :D Supernatural, Star Trek(If it's still up?) And Avengers.(Oh that one is good) _

_If you want other author's to read I suggest:_

_RavensGame_

_Wynter Spite_

_Let Me Rule_

_IWannaLiveInABlueBox_

_Carolinagirl117_


	9. Chapter 9

**I can't believe I'm back to writing this, back to finish it. It's only because I re-read your reviews, but here I am, finishing it**! **Life is so much better, and I pray 2015 will treat you well, God bless and Merry Christmas!**

It had been weeks. Bobby, other hunters, Dean himself had all tracked the witch that had done this. Eventually she had been found, but frankly, that was the least of Dean's problems. The chick had been interrogated for information on the spell she'd used on Sam, interrogated by Bobby, so it hadn't taken long.

The witch had said that she would break the spell if Bobby released her, so, despite Bobby's protests, Dean had agreed. He'd secretly released her, had her uncast the spell, and it had seemed to be working. But Sam had fallen into depression. Without his senses, his world was completely silent, and he'd been living like that for weeks. The witch (And he would not refer to her as anything else) had said if Dean could get him out of his depression, then he would start healing. But there was no way to tell Sam that.

And now, a week later after the spell had been uncast… Nothing. Sam was still miserable, constantly confused, and downcast. Right now, Sam sat in the passenger seat while Dean ordered from a drive-thru.

His tall, harry brother's head was resting on his shoulder, and his hollow eyes stared at the cassette player. "That would be ten dollars and fifty cents," a pimple-faced kid said distractedly, staring past Dean at his death-look-a-like brother.

"Hey," Dean snapped his fingers in front of Pimple's face, motioning to his own green eyes. He pulled out a stolen credit card, handing it over, waiting for Zits to swipe it, then taking it back.

"What's wrong with your friend?" the young McDonald's worker asked. Dean glared.

"Constipation," Dean answered sarcastically, angrily. "None of your business,"

"Alright, sorry!" Pimples-the-teenage-McDonald-worker threw his arms in the air.

"You d mn well better be," Dean grumbled, protectively tightening his arm around his vacant sibling. He drove the car forward, and didn't have to wait long before his order came through the window. He snatched it quickly and drove-just drove, as he had done for the past weeks. Just drove, with no idea where he was going. Where they were going, he supposed.

It was nearing Christmas, lights and decorations being put up, Christmas music everywhere you went, Santa on every street corner. And it just made his heart fall even more by the second. Sam would miss Christmas, in a way Dean never had thought would be possible.

So he drove, and he drove, and he didn't know how long, until he found a park to stop for a while. He helped Sam out, bringing the water in the fast-food-restaurant take-out cup with him.

Like always, Santa stood ringing his bell on the opposite side of the large, green, tree dotted area. Christmas lights hung from the natural whatever-they-were trees and bushes, and the same for the playground in the center. It would have been beautiful, if it didn't make his heart heavier yet.

And so he tried to get his wasting-away, twenty-year-old family to drink the water. Family. Friend. Best friend, partner, life. Sappy as it sounded.

"Sammy," he said quietly, getting him to sit on a bench. He kneeled in front of him, putting his hands on the side of Sam's face. "I know you can't hear me. I know you can't see me, and d mnit, I know you can't talk to me, but please, man, you're so close to being okay," he whispered.

For the first time since the incident he let the emotions try and crush him, and they almost succeeded. With the lump growing in his throat, trying to stop his breathing, he leaned his own forehead against his brother's.

Brokenly, he sighed, trying to keep himself calm. It only further suffocated him. He bit his bottom lip, a tear dropping from his eye and landing on Sam's cheek was enough to make his younger flinch harshly.

"I'm sorry," Dean apologized, though he knew Sam wouldn't hear, and pulled back, sniffing and rubbing his hand under his eye, then the other eye, then through his hair, letting his head stay bowed.

That was when he heard it. It was shocking, painful, surreal. The tiny croak, like a feverish five-year-old trying to call him from across the motel room, the feverish five-year-old being the very one he raised almost single-handedly.

A simple "D'n" whispered pitifully.

**There may be an epilogue, but I'm not sure yet. Totally went all Tangled tear-style on you guys, didn't I? Thank you so much for everything!**


End file.
